


Future's Wide Open

by ScotlandEvander



Series: Shattered [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, Singing, St Mungo's Hospital, The Knight Bus, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:51:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScotlandEvander/pseuds/ScotlandEvander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Tom prided himself on being more clever than the average wizard, he did not think his thought process on spelling his diary was powerful enough to yank something out of an ordinary Muggle diary he had performed no magic on. </p><p>But, somehow, something had exploded out of his diary, sending him flying backwards, landing hard flat on his back staring at the ceiling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Future's Wide Open

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it.**

_A/N: “You’re Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile” lyrics are by Martin Charnin, music by Charles Strouse. “Over the Rainbow” lyrics by EY Harburg, music by Harold Arlen._

* * *

Tom Marvolo Riddle had seen many strange things in his life, mostly caused by his own hand. Things floated, vanished, changed color, exploded, people transformed into ferrets all thanks to the magic that flowed through his superior blood. At sixteen, Tom was mastering spells far advanced for his years. 

This time, though, he hadn’t done anything. 

He had been minding his own business (being somewhat innocent), attempting to write all his memories about his past year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in order to preserve them for future generations. The moment IT had happened, he’d been toying with the idea of doing something to the recorded memories that would allow the person to VIEW him being the glorious Heir of Slytherin. There had to be a charm for that. 

In a perfect world, there would be a spell so he would be able to control the person who stumbled across the diary in order to continue the work that he’d been prevented from continuing. While there was a spell for that, he doubted if he cursed his diary with _Imperio_ it’d work. 

While Tom prided himself on being more clever than the average wizard, he did not think his thought process on spelling his diary was powerful enough to yank something out of an ordinary Muggle diary he had performed no magic on. 

But, somehow, something had exploded out of his diary, sending him flying backwards, landing hard flat on his back staring at the ceiling. Once he recovered, he took stock of his current situation, only to find there was a PERSON on top of him. A small person, who was wheezing and bleeding all over his shoulder. 

Cursing, he pushed the figure off. The person gave a groan and rolled over, moving rather fluidly to sit up.

“Bloody hell,” the person grumbled, holding her nose.

“Who are you?” he demanded, quickly getting to his feet. His fingers itched to grab his wand, but he was in the Muggle world and at that blasted orphanage for the summer.

He was underaged as well. No magic. 

He ground his back teeth together, glaring at the ground. He needed to master himself. He looked back up and noticed the person who’d burst forth from his diary was a child in Hogwarts robes. She had out of control wavy black hair and rather intense amber eyes that watched him like a hawk. She was using the sleeve of her robes to stanch her nose. 

“Whob are youb?” she countered thickly in an American accent. It wasn’t the one he’d heard while he was growing up on the radio. It was soft, almost melodious sounding. 

“I asked first. And this is my room,” Tom snapped. 

He towered over the child. She should have been shirking away from him, not glaring up at him. She lowered her sleeves from her broken nose and regarded him pointedly for a moment. He’d seen her stance and manner before: she was a pureblood. 

“Your uniform is wrong,” she said faintly.

“Pardon?”

“Bugger. Where’s that bleeping book?” she asked, pushing herself to her feet. Her eyes fell on his desk to the cheap diary he had gotten on Vauxhall Road. She grabbed it up before he could say anything. She was flipping through it before Tom moved snatch it out of her bloody hands.

Disgusting.

He’d need a new one now. All that work wasted because someone stupid idiot bled all over his diary.  

Her reflexes were fast. She lost grip on it for a second, but quickly swerved, preventing Tom from getting the diary. She studied him, looking scared for the first time. It was rather pathetic, as she was covered with blood and her nose was clearly broken. 

“It’s written in,” she announced. 

“It’s a diary.”

“It wasn’t written in before,” she insisted. “I wrote my Transfiguration notes in it and they vanished. I did it like twenty times and each time on the same page. And they vanished. Then some snarky git with your handwriting told me to stop writing my notes. So, I stopped. Well, more like I freaked out.”

“Excuse me?”

“Freaked out. Kind of got…scared? Well, actually, I decided Draco was right and I shouldn’t touch it and maybe I ought to give it to Dumbledore. I mean, it’s bleeding Dark Magic. Well, it was. Now it’s just…normal. No longer bleeding Dark Magic.” She raised an eyebrow suddenly, studying Tom. “Kinda like you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re drenched in it,” she muttered, backing up a bit. “You’re making my fingers itch worst than Dre.”

“Excuse me?”

She stared at him, looking all around him, seeing something he was clearly not. Or she was insane. 

“Where the heck are we?” she asked, turning around. “This is not Hogwarts.”

“No. It’s not,” Tom grumbled. 

“Where the fudge are we then? Bugger, you don’t look old enough to do magic outside of school. Fudge,” she muttered, gingerly touching her nose. “I kind liked my nose straight. It was totally not Black.” 

“You’re a Black? Who are you? Answer me,” Tom demanded, pulling his wand out of his trunk and pointing it at her. “I don’t give a damn about the Trace. Tell me. Now.”

He could feel his magic crackle around him and found it odd the girl was looking at the air around him with temptation, rather than at him. 

It annoyed him. 

“Yeah. I’m a Black. You’re not,” she said. “This place is…sad.”

She frowned.  

“Indeed.”

She snorted for some reason (which made her wince), scampering away from him and looking out the window. She gasped. 

“Duuuuuuude!” she breathed, pressing her face to the window. “Totally not in Kansas right now, Toto.”

“Toto?”

“Yeah, _Wizard of Oz_ ,” she supplied, turning back to face him. “All right. Am I in the diary? I mean, I tripped and fell down the stairs.”

“Clearly,” Tom drawled. 

“Duh,” she said, peeling off her outer robe. She frowned as she studied the rich, expensive material, which was splattered with blood. “I hate robes.”

Tom gaped at the child, who was wearing odd leggings, a tiny piece of cloth that might have been a skirt if it’d been about five inches longer and a blood spattered white dress shirt with a very loosely tied tie, which due to its coloring lead Tom to believe she was a Gryffindor.

Of course. Only a brain dead lion would get sucked into a diary. 

Tom stared at her feet for a moment, noticing she wasn’t wearing the usual dress shoes girls wore. She was wearing some sort of lace up boot. They looked shockingly similar to the combat boots he’d seen Muggle soldiers wearing with their uniforms.  

“Who are you?”

“Black. Atlanta Black,” she supplied. “I’m American, if you failed to notice.”

“Clearly.”

“And you are?”

“Riddle.”

“T.M. Riddle, should have guessed,” Black muttered, folding up her robe. She gingerly touched her nose again. “Do you have somewhere I can wash the blood off? Can I get to St. Mungo’s?”

“Why?”

“To straighten out my nose. Besides the fact it hurts like a mother load, I fancy my straight nose. I don’t want a crooked one. Due to the fact you are utterly perfect, I think you can agree that appearances do count in our world.”

“I’m perfect?”

“There’s not a hair out of place on your head, dude,” the girl pointed out, rolling her eyes. “So, where in London are we?”

Tom studied her for a long moment. She shifted on her feet. Her bundled robe was under her arm. She glanced around the room and noticed something on the ground. 

“Eureka!” she exclaimed, grabbing a leather book bag up off the ground. Tom stared at it. It was high quality, yet it looked very unfamiliar to him. She opened the flap and stuffed the robe into it. The bag did not bulge. Of course, her bag was charmed to fit everything.  

“How are you going to explain to the people at St. Mungo’s what happened?”

“Uh, I’ll say I fell down some stairs?”

“You looked out the window, correct?” Tom eyed her strange clothing. While clearly a Hogwarts uniform, it was as wrong as the one he was wearing appeared to her. 

“Yes, I’ve come to realize I’ve must have traveled through time, Sherlock,” Black spat at him, putting her hands on her nonexistent hips. “What year we at?”

“1943,” Tom replied, folding his arms across his chest. 

“Brilliant,” she grumbled. “Bloody hell.”

“Language.”

“Oh yeah,” she said, looking distracted. “CRAP! World War Two is going on and I’m in freaking LONDON!”

She began to hyperventilate and collapsed to the floor. 

“I guess you know about the bombs,” Tom drawled, scowling. 

She nodded, still trying to breathe. He wanted to kick the child out of his room. Throw her out the window. Curse her a few times and then throw her out the window. He only didn’t do this because she had exploded out of his diary. He needed answers. 

He needed to get back to Hogwarts to get those answers, so he best not get thrown out for doing underage magic. Since the child was magical, it was fair to say at some point Dumbledore’s crooked nose would get whiff of another magical being in the orphanage (because he was just like that) and show up. 

Heaving a great sigh, he stared at the girl. “Get up. We’ll go to St. Mungo’s. Or at least a Muggle hospital. I’m not sure where St. Mungo’s is located.” 

Tom frowned. He ought to know that information. 

Black took a few gulping breaths, closing her eyes for a moment. “I know where it’s at. It’s in central London. Do you happen to have a pen?”

Without speaking, Tom handed her a scrap of paper and the pen. Keeping her eyes closed, she drew a map. She handed it to Tom, who stared at it. He turned it a few times before he realized where St. Mungo’s was located. 

“I don’t know if we’ll be able to get there,” Tom admitted.

“Bugger. Does the Knight Bus exist?”

“The what?”

“Muggle’s got buses?”

 Tom nodded. 

“Let’s go.”

She turned and flung his door open and walked into the hallway. Tom grabbed his diary, shoving it into his pocket and grabbed his jacket, which he threw at the girl. She stared at it, then put it on. While she looked somewhat tall for the age he assumed she was, Tom was tall, so the coat was big on her, but it covered her outrageous outfit. 

“Be quiet,” he ordered. 

She nodded her agreement. Tom closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, then led her down the stairs. The pair managed to make it outside without anyone noticing. Once they were out on the road, Black scampered in front of Tom, flicked her left wrist and her wand appeared in her hand. 

“How did you do that?” Tom asked.

The girl had the nerve to give him a cheeky grin instead of an answer. She turned back to the street and waved her wand up and brought it down and leapt backwards. Tom didn’t understand the backwards leap till he wound up on his behind after there was a loud BANG and a bus appeared in front of them. 

“The Knight Bus!”

The bus was an absurd shade of purple and triple decker. A conductor appeared in a matching purple uniform and began to recite a greeting from memory. Black bounced up and down till the man noticed her.

“What choo do to yur nose?” the man asked Black.

“I broke it. I need to fix it and we’re not old enough to do magic yet,” Black said, smiling charmingly at the man. 

Tom knew what she was doing. He’d done it a few times, though not often as the act of being sweet and innocent didn’t come to him natural. Charming and dashing got him farther than sweet. 

Before he knew what was happening, a tiny hand grabbed onto his wrist and she yanked him to his feet. 

How did someone so small have the ability to pull up him up? While Tom was not exactly large, he wasn’t a string bean. He was thin, but lithe. He had muscle mass. 

“How much is it for two?”

“‘Choo fall over for?” the man asked, eyeing Tom.

“We’ve never used this before. How much does it cost for two?”

“Where your parents?”

“Dead,” she said, her amber eyes going large and filling with water. 

Tom leaped into action. “Hush. It’s okay. Excuse me, she’s asked you twice. How much?”

“Oh, choo wanna go to Mungo’s?” 

Tom nodded. 

“Five knuts.”

Tom felt Black give a sigh. “Brill. Thanks, Mister.”

The man smiled down at Black, who was doing her cute kid act to perfection. Tom helped her up onto the bus (playing caring Samaritan flawlessly), while the conductor asked her a million and ten questions about her fall, her nose and her stoic brother, who glowered at him. 

Wait, her brother?

“We’re both students at Hogwarts,” Black announced. “But we live in an orphanage during the summers. Not the bees knees indeed.”

The conductor stared at her for a moment before Tom explained. “She likes to try out Muggle slang all the time.” 

Tom was sure no one had used “bees knees” since before he was born. 

“Oh, two knuts. For both of choos,” the man said, winking at Black.

“Oh! Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

Black thanked him and fished the money out of her pocket of her…skirt. She seemed to have an undetectable extending charm on her skirt pockets as her hand went into the pocket deeper than the skirt existed. The man failed to noticed. He left them alone as the bus blasted around with no rhyme or reason. It would have been almost fascinating if it hadn’t been so nauseating. 

“I think we’re not in London,” the girl commented. “This looks like Glasgow. I love Glasgow. I don’t know why. Though, it looks a wee bit different in my time.”

“When are you from?”

“Oh, later than you,” she replied airily. “I’m eleven till November. Wait, what month is it?”

“July.”

“Ah. Well, in July 1943 I think my dad was born, but not my mom,” she offered. Tom glowered at her. She laughed at him. “Have you ever tried to smile?”

Tom glared at her. 

“You’re never fully dressed without a smile,” she informed him in a sing song voice. She suddenly began to actually sing, rocking back and forth, wearing a rather annoyingly large smile, showing off some rather absurdly white teeth. “ _Who cares you’re wearing from Main Street to Seville Row, it’s what you wear from ear to ear, and not from head to toe. You’re never fully dressed without a smile.”_

She gave him another huge smile, pulling at the corners of his mouth upwards with her index fingers. At his expression, she laughed. 

Tom felt an odd feeling roll around, skirting over his skin leaving him feeling rather warm and content. 

“It’s hard to sing with a broken nose,” she commented. “Hurts.”

“Then don’t sing.”

This child was annoying. She continued to sing, which tragically was rather good even with her nose broken. Tom had never heard the song she was singing, but she was putting on a good show— embarrassingly so. Several patrons ventured down to the level they were on and cheered her on while she continued her quest to annoy Tom to no end. When they finally reached the hospital, several people handed her a few coins or other random things. 

“Never had that happen,” she muttered after they got off the bus. She shoved everything into her pocket and stared at a department store that looked that the Blitz had done a number on it, though as Tom stared, he had a sense the damage wasn’t actually done by German bombs, but rather magic to make it appear it had been damaged. 

Black walked up to the window— filled with broken dummies and trash— and pressed her hands to the solid glass. She stared at the dummy in the window. “I need my nose fixed. It broke.”

Much to his surprise, the dummy moved its head and nodded. Black’s hands began to melt into the glass. Grinning, she stepped forward and melted into the window, grabbing Tom’s wrist before she fully vanished. Tom jerked out of her grasp the moment they were in the waiting room. It was crowded with people with all sorts of disfiguring ailments. Tom felt his skin crawl a bit as he noticed someone with an elephant trunk spouting out of his head. The room was loud, as some of the people waiting were making odd noises. Tom ignored everyone who was now staring at him and Black as they stood in line at the welcome desk. They reached the front quickly. 

“Yes?”

“I broke my nose.”

“What spell did you use?” the bored witch asked without even looking up.

“I tripped. But my brother and I are underaged and can’t fix it with magic. I don’t fancy having a Muggle doctor fix my nose,” Black announced, smoothly using a rather posh sounding British accent all of a sudden. She was even giving the bored witch a haughty look Tom had seen Malfoy and Walburga Black dish out on several occasions. “I didn’t see what floor broken noses were to go to on the guide.”

The witch suddenly looked up, having taken note of the aristocratic voice talking to her. Her eyes went from Tom, who was sporting his school uniform slacks, school sweater vest and dress shirt (for lack of having any other clothes), to Black, whose face was only visible over the counter. Tom glanced at the child next to him, then back to the welcome witch. 

They did look somewhat related. If you didn’t look too close. 

“Ground floor. Right through there,” the witch said. “Waiting room on your left, miss.”

“Thank you,” Black said, still using her upper class accent. She backed up a bit and waited pointedly for Tom to lead her. He eyed her for a moment, before leading her in the direction indicated. 

It looked like an emergency room at a Muggle hospital. 

“We need a better story,” Tom said, regretting it the moment he said it to her. Engaging her in conversation was not his aim at the moment. 

“True. I think we ought to stick as close to the truth as we can,” Black offered, reverting to her American accent. “They’re going to ask for an adult. Who is your magical guardian?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re an orphan. Who explained magic to you?”

“Dumbledore,” Tom spat.

Black raised an eyebrow at him. “I see, Mr. Riddle. Since your name is already down in the books, we’ll use your surname. And you sound like one of those posh Brits, so I’ll stick with this accent.” She flawlessly switched to her British accent. “They will more than likely inform Dumbledore, who if he’s not horridly busy will hustle down here and I’ll tell him about my time travel mishap. I need a name.” 

“Calliope.”

The name came to his mind out of nowhere. He quickly covered the look of surprise on his own face at his quick suggestion of a name that fit the annoying, singing child. 

“What?”

“Calliope Riddle. There. You have a name.” 

“Brill. We’ll tell Dumbledore the truth, but you’ll have to be some sort of relations to me.” 

“Calliope Wren Riddle,” Tom ordered, oddly liking the sound. “Half sister.” 

“Wren?”

“It’s a song bird.”

“ _You’re never fully dressed without a smi-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ile,”_ she managed to drag out, while wearing a ridiculous smile. 

Tom groaned.

“NEXT!”

Black hurried up to the counter, still smiling. “I broke my nose.”

The witched stared at her. Tom refrained from an eye roll or glower. Who smiles while having a broken nose? 

“I tripped. But my brother and I can’t do magic because we’re underaged. I haven’t even started school. I don’t have a wand,” Black added, still smiling. “I’d like my formerly perfect nose fixed please.”

The witch blinked. “Name?”

“Riddle. Calliope Wren.”

The witch made an odd face for a moment. “Riddle?”

“Yes. Do you have a problem with that?” Black drawled, changing her posture and dropping the sweet smile and retreating behind her pureblood mask. 

“No. Never heard that name before,” the witch muttered. 

“You will. Don’t worry,” Black snapped. “How long till someone fixes my nose?”

The witch glanced up at Tom, who pointedly looked elsewhere. 

“Thirty minutes or more,” the witch said. “Where are your parents?”

“Dead. Professor Dumbledore is my brother’s magical guardian. And I guess mine as soon as I get my letter.” 

The witch blinked a few times, not sure what to make of this development. 

“Come, Calliope. They’ll call your name when they are ready for you,” Tom said in a controlled tone, the same one he used as a prefect. 

Black gave one last withering look to the witch at the desk and followed Tom to take a seat. They sat down, Black sitting far enough back her feet didn’t hit the ground. 

“I like feeling short,” she suddenly announced. “Usually I feel too tall.” 

Tom made a noise of agreement and picked up a paper. He started to read, singling the end of the discussion. This waiting room was a bit more quiet, but still rather noisy. He wasn’t sure how long has passed before he heard soft singing next to him. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Black, who was holding the end of the chair and swinging her feet back and forth, staring at her ugly, heavy black boots. 

“ _Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high. There’s a land I dreamed of once in a lullaby. Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue. And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true_ ,” she sang softly, looking almost as if she wasn’t aware what she was doing. “ _Someday I’ll wish upon a star and wake up where clouds are behind me, oh, trouble melts like lemon drops high above the chimney tops that’s where you’ll find me. Oh, somewhere over the rainbow, blue birds fly. Birds fly over the rainbow, oh, why, oh then, why can’t I?_ ”

She took to humming the tune open mouthed, as she couldn’t hum like a normal person due to her broken nose. Something inside of Tom seemed to break as she continued to sing the song a few more times. It was almost as if she infused magic into her singing. He felt it sweep over his skin and sink in. 

He wanted to be annoyed with her, wanted to snarl at her to shut up and mind her own business, but he liked her voice. Hearing it soothed something that he wasn’t aware was wrong. He assumed it was the magic in it that was doing something to him, as her magic was similar to the nature of his, only she was a happy-go-lucky child, something Tom had never been. 

He folded the paper after a moment and glanced around the room, realizing most of the patients had fallen quiet to watch the quietly singing girl. She had lulled the entire room without realizing it. An evil smirk played on Tom’s lips as his mind went over what he could do with her power. 


End file.
